


Fancy Stabbing

by ShinjiShazaki



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [21]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fodlan Summer Olympics, Gen, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Sabre Fencing, canon typical Felix moodiness, check out my self indulgence, covid cancelled the olympics so we made our own hope you enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinjiShazaki/pseuds/ShinjiShazaki
Summary: Felix had been chasing gold for years, ever since Glenn took the top spot on the fencers’ podium.  He’d gone to Garreg Mach with absolute confidence that he and his childhood friends would come away with a gold medal each, and they had done their best.They’d only won silver.  The pressure was on for him to do better than that.——Fencing was Byleth’s final event.  One last shot to do better than a silver medal.  Her last chance to surpass the mountain she’d made for herself as a pentathlete.She couldn’t ask for better support than her family and the pretty girl in the Adrestian stands.She couldn’t ask for a better opponent.Why was she always pushing?It was time to find her answer.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	Fancy Stabbing

Going into every event, Felix had expected his closest teammates to excel. He had seen their efforts for years, watched them succeed. Even Dimitri, bumbling boar though he was outside competitions, deserved a gold medal to match the lion he was when focused. Ingrid, too, was owed a gold medal with how she loosened up as she rode her bike. Sylvain worked hard enough to win, despite his overall foolishness, and though Felix would only admit it under duress, he wanted to see Sylvain stand atop the podium as much as he wanted to win himself.

Seeing each of them only reach second place on their podiums made ice creep into his limbs. The fact that they still bothered to celebrate, resigned smiles mixed in with their laughter and congratulations to one another, made his gut twist into half a dozen knots. Ingrid’s losing victory was the last straw, and Felix silently excused himself from their dinner the night before his competition, refusing to acknowledge Hanneman calling to him.

It was a muggy evening, sweat gathering quickly on his back and brow as he walked away from the cafeteria. He ignored it and the bits of conversation he heard from other athletes as they headed toward their rooms. He made an effort to ignore calls of his own name, but was forced to stop when Sylvain caught him from behind and lifted him off his feet.

“You know,” Felix said through grit teeth, “I still have a competition to win. If you injure me with your idiotic behavior and I have to drop out, I may kill you.”

“Wow, fake threats,” Sylvain said, setting him down as Dimitri and Ingrid caught up. “You are freaking out.”

“I’m not ‘freaking out,’ you half-wit,” Felix replied, pulling on his shirt to peel it off his back. “I’m taking my fights seriously, unlike you three.”

“There you go calling your bouts ‘fights’ again,” Dimitri sighed. “There’s a limit to how intense you can be, Felix. Or there should be, at least.”

“Do you think you have any right to tell me that when you didn’t actually win? What, did you decide to be the lazy boar instead of—”

“ _Felix_!” Ingrid snapped. “You were right there with us! You saw how hard Dimitri worked, _and_ Sylvain! Just because you’re nervous doesn’t mean you get to act like they just gave up at the end, so knock it off!”

“And before you go snapping at her about her performance,” Sylvain said as Felix opened his mouth, “she did great. You gotta fight me if you want to shit on how well she did.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite so…colorfully,” said Dimitri, “but I feel the same way. Getting a silver medal is no small feat.”

“I expected at least _one_ of you to get a gold,” Felix shot back, jabbing Dimitri’s chest with his fingers. “Now I’m the only chance Faerghus has left to get one at all.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Sylvain said. “Ashe _got_ one for Faerghus! Don’t you go shitting on his win either!”

“I don’t care about him and his boating. I expected more from you three—more than anyone else from Faerghus.” He turned away, starting off as he said, “Your competitions are done. Take a page from everyone else’s books and get out of the village already. Don’t distract me.”

He ignored them calling to him again, fully at the ready to throw an elbow backward if he was grabbed once more. None of them followed after him, and he was left to his silence as he returned to his room. The sun was still up when he settled in bed, painting the walls and ceiling deep oranges and reds. Lying on his back, he watched the color drain away to darkness as the sun vanished under the horizon.

“We were supposed to be better than Glenn’s record together, you morons,” he muttered to himself. He rolled over when the air conditioning turned on, relaxing as the cool air washed over his back. It let him fall asleep without struggle, but it did not ensure his sleep was sound. When he woke shortly after dawn, well before his alarm, it felt as though he had simply blinked. He sighed, the sound dragging noisily through his nose, and got out of bed.

The heat and humidity had broken overnight, a steady wind still blowing when he went outside. Already having stretched, he set out for a light, easy run. Though his phone was in his pocket, he did not wear earbuds. He focused on his breathing, the steady sound of his sneakers hitting the ground as he ran. The rush of the wind in his ears was as much a comfort as it was a distraction from the noise rising in his head. The sight of other fencers out and about put his teeth on edge; he barely managed to keep his pace steady.

No one was waiting for him in the cafeteria after he’d showered. He did not bother looking for anyone, gathering his food and saying the small prayer he’d been raised to recite at meals. It was even quieter with only the fencing event remaining, so many athletes long gone. Much of the remaining activity and chatter was at the tables Adrestia had been using. Felix, chewing thoroughly, watched their head coach Ladislava speaking to a young man with pale, olive green hair and a woman with brown hair, both of them focused on her with confidence in all their gazes.

“There you are.”

Felix turned as Hanneman sat down opposite him. He put another spoonful of cereal in his mouth as Hanneman looked at the food spread out on the table.

“I’m glad to see you’ve stuck to the meal plan I gave you for today,” Hanneman said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I actually listen to instructions,” Felix muttered. “Unlike—”

“Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid all stuck to their diets as well,” Hanneman said mildly. “Don’t pretend they didn’t because you’re nervous.”

Felix hummed flatly and said nothing more in favor of eating.

“I know you’re nervous,” said Hanneman. “There’s no avoiding it, only addressing it.”

He hummed again.

“I’ve done my research on the competitors. All things told, I expect you’ll reach the gold medal match without too much exhaustion. You’re going to need your strength and wits about you, as I’m certain you’ll be facing Randolph von Bergliez.” He looked toward the Adrestian tables, saying, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ladislava is briefing _him_ on _you_. I’m sure she has almost nothing to say to Vartan at this point. Her only real competition was from Eiser, and that seems to have fallen apart.”

“Sir,” Felix said, “you’re going overboard with researching the competition again.”

“Oh! I suppose I am, but you still have a very formidable opponent to prepare for. Ladislava was no slouch when she wielded the sabre and I know she’ll be passing on all she knows to Bergliez.”

“I know,” Felix said, and though he was quiet he did not grumble. He ate carefully, going back to his room for his gear.

No one waited for him outside the cafeteria, lodging buildings, or even the competition hall. Hanneman was just past the hall’s entrance for athletes, and he patted Felix’s shoulder before they made their way to the locker rooms. There was no noise to greet them, voices soft and far off with how everyone kept their distance. Felix did what he could to focus on the quiet as he dressed. As always, he took the most care with his shoes, making sure they were neither too tight nor too loose.

When he stood, he stopped hearing Hanneman. All words went in one ear and out the other; his preliminary opponents might as well have had masks for faces for how he did not bother to regard them off the strip. Even the fencer he faced in the semi-final match was not one he bothered to notice, even as they stepped off the strip. Felix paced near the strip, adjusting his gloves over and over and leaving his mask on.

“Felix!”

He jumped. Hanneman put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the chairs just out of view of the lights and most cameras. Gently but firm enough to force movement, Hanneman took his sabre and made him sit.

“The men’s team final is before ours,” said Hanneman. “Cool down a bit for now, we’ll have an opportunity to warm back up beforehand.”

“Yes sir,” Felix said, taking his gloves and mask off. He wiped his hands dry on his breeches, slowly flapping his gloves to dry them as well while he watched the team match. He did not look into the spectator seats in any direction, only looking into the dark areas reserved for athletes and coaches. It did not take long to spot Ladislava and the green-haired man, and he switched his attention away from the team match to them and their quiet conversation. When he saw a woman with long red hair tied in a high ponytail creep up behind them, pen and notepad at the ready, he scowled.

“Sir,” he said as the buzzer went off for a fencer’s point. “That gossip is here.”

“Yes, Anna’s making her rounds,” Hanneman said. “She was working the finalist teams over while individual matches were going. I’m sure she’s interested in what Ladislava and Randolph have to say before our match.”

“If she comes over here, I’m leaving,” Felix muttered.

“You will stay and answer her questions politely,” Hanneman said mildly, one brow raised. “As a professional, I expect you to do that much. If she is deliberately rude, I will step in.”

“Fine.” He leaned back in his chair, keeping his lamé on and his jacket sleeves down to maintain a certain level of heat in the air conditioned hall. Because he saw when Anna crept away from Ladislava and Randolph, he sighed heavily and crossed his arms. He did not jump when Anna appeared beside him, though Hanneman cleared his throat to cover how he had startled slightly.

“Coach Hanneman!” Anna said, a bright smile on her face. “May I have a bit of your and Fencer Fraldarius’ time?”

“Of course,” said Hanneman. “As long as we know you’re here on business.”

“I’m always around on business,” Anna chuckled, showing the press badge on the lanyard round her neck. She moved to crouch before them, uncapping her pen, and said, “First and foremost, congratulations on reaching the final! You’re guaranteed a medal no matter the outcome, which caps off a great performance from Faerghus’ representatives.”

“Thank you,” Felix said, managing to keep most of the gruffness out of his voice.

“Your opponent is Randolph von Bergliez, who took his victory with a point total of fifteen to six. You scored similarly in your victory of fifteen to eight. How do you feel about your upcoming match?”

“I intend to win,” Felix said. “I’ve trained to win, no matter my opponent.”

“No worries at all? Coach Ladislava has said she’s had a fantastic season with two of her most talented fencers in newcomer Bergliez and veteran Vartan. Despite this being your first Olympic competition, you’re this confident going into a gold medal match?”

“I’ve trained with the best fencers in Faerghus. I have plenty of reasons to be confident.”

“Ah, that’s true!” Anna said, jotting down more notes than Felix thought he’d said. “And of course you have your brother Glenn to look up to. Although he isn’t competing this year, he is a three-time gold medalist, after all.”

Felix drummed his fingers on his biceps. Eventually, he said, “He wasn’t one of my official trainers. But yes, I learned a lot from him.”

“Any thoughts about how he’d feel about Faerghus’ performance overall? Most projections had Faerghus and Adrestia more balanced in terms of gold medal distribution, but Adrestia has been coming out on top. Word around the village is that you’re the last hope for a big win for your country. What are your thoughts?”

“Every competitor from Faerghus has worked extremely hard and my teammates placed high in each of their sports,” Felix said, brows low and a frown on his face. “I’m not a ‘last hope’ when they did their best and didn’t crash and burn like other athletes.”

“Any comments to make on that? Byleth Eisner in particular is—”

“Miss Anna,” Hanneman said, smiling, “our focus is on our immediate opponent, not on the struggles of an athlete outside our bracket. We certainly wish her and her opponents luck and safety when the women’s individual matches begin this afternoon. That said, our final statement is that we look forward to our match with Fencer Bergliez.”

Felix caught sight of how Anna pouted for a moment, and he tapped one heel on the floor as his frown deepened. She recovered and smiled once more, nodding as she straightened up and capped her pen.

“Thanks, gentlemen!” she said. “Luck to you in the match!”

Hanneman nodded to her, watching her leave before turning to Felix. Quiet enough that they could not be overheard, he said, “You know, the others told me you’d said their efforts weren’t good enough.”

“They _weren’t_ ,” Felix replied. “Not for gold. But I’ll be damned if I let some gossip rag act like they didn’t win at all.”

Hanneman sighed, hand on his brow, and said, “I will be telling them about this, you know. Sylvain was very put out.”

Felix hummed flatly. They settled in to wait, and as time passed ice began to creep back into Felix’s limbs. He massaged his arms and legs to drive it back, gladly getting to his feet to warm up when the team match came to an end. Not a moment too soon did the referee come to gather them, and he took his place at the front of the line to walk onto the strip, the referee behind him and Randolph behind him in turn. Sabre in his right hand and mask in his left, Felix went to the blue side of the strip and waited without looking at the crowd. He did not try to imagine what Rhea and Seteth were saying for commentary.

“From Faerghus!” the floor announcer said. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius!”

Felix gave a quick salute to the referee and bowed to either side of the strip, hearing the cheers and applause he had earned.

“From Adrestia! Randolph von Bergliez!”

Randolph, smiling, saluted the referee and bowed to the crowd. The applause for him was just as lively; Felix ignored the blue haired young man and green haired young woman cheering loudly for Randolph. He stepped forward when the referee gestured, moving his sabre to his left so he could shake Randolph’s hand.

“Been looking forward to this match,” Randolph said. “Let’s do our best.”

Felix smiled, little more than a quirk of his lips, and said, “Let’s.”

They put their masks on and retreated to the guard lines when the referee called, “En garde!”

The crowd went silent, held still. They faded away for Felix as he raised his sabre, letting him focus only on Randolph. Randolph kept his sabre down a moment longer, rolling his shoulders and shaking his arms. He raised it and nodded to Felix, and Felix nodded in turn.

“ _Allez_!”

Felix surged forward, stepping in as he exhaled sharply. A feinted motion in his wrist made Randolph raise his guard to his left, leaving his right side open. Felix struck a blow against Randolph’s arm, clean and unquestionable. The blue light on Felix’s side of the strip lit up and a buzzer went off; the referee raised a hand to Felix.

“Fraldarius!” he said.

Polite applause rippled through the crowd, but Felix paid it no heed as he and Randolph returned to the guard lines. Randolph’s face was unreadable past his mask, but he raised his sabre at once to match Felix.

“ _Allez_!”

Randolph kept his guard balanced, but Felix found an angle. He stepped forward, aiming for Randolph’s chest. Randolph attempted to parry, but could not angle himself away. Felix’s sabre struck his chest, and the blue lights and buzzer went off again.

“Fraldarius!” the referee said.

More applause bounced off the walls and did not reach Felix’s ears. He shook his hand as he took his position, lifting his sabre as Randolph did.

“ _Allez_!”

Randolph lunged, the hiss of his exhale audible at a distance. Felix had no time to parry, and he bit his tongue to stay quiet when Randolph’s sabre struck his chest. The red lights on Randolph’s side of the strip lit up in time with the buzzer, and the referee raised a hand to him.

“Bergliez!” he said.

Felix lowered his sabre to give himself a few extra seconds to focus. He lifted his sabre when Randolph was back in position, imagining water rolling off his back to dismiss the point.

“ _Allez_!”

They both stepped in. Felix slashed; Randolph parried and pressed in. Holding his breath, Felix managed to parry the riposte and shuffled back to recover ground. He slipped back in, resuming his attack. Randolph struck in kind, both of them landing hits. Even as both sets of lights and buzzers went off, Felix stepped back with a raised fist as Randolph nodded.

“Fraldarius, right of way!”

Felix returned to position, sabre raised straight away. He shook his free hand as Randolph returned to position, adjusting his mask and keeping his sabre down. Distantly, Felix heard the voices of the crowd, of Hanneman, but it all blurred into dissonance. He lowered his sabre just a moment to look at his feet and check their place and angles.

_(“This is called a lunge, Felix. I used this to start winning rush patterns, so keep it in mind.”)_

He had watched Glenn’s lunges for hours, burning every aspect of them into his body and mind. He had watched his own lunges for just as long until he had perfected his copy of Glenn’s movements. In every preliminary match, it had been the same: Glenn’s lunge put him in a winning pattern. Every opponent had crumbled, just like they had before Glenn. Sure of his stance, Felix raised his sabre as Randolph did the same.

“ _Allez_!”

Felix lunged, and everything was perfect for one instant. His form, his speed, the angle of his sabre matched Glenn’s exactly, and he knew he would strike a blow against Randolph’s chest as Glenn had done to so many other opponents. He could see the strike land and lead him to—

Randolph was already in position from the moment Felix started to move forward. His sabre was at an angle perfect for parrying the lunge and following up with a riposte. He executed both in seconds, striking Felix cleanly and with almost no effort. Felix stumbled in stepping back, staring at Randolph as ice once more filled his limbs.

“Bergliez!”

His feet were cinder blocks dragging through tar. The noise of the crowd was louder than ever, but still he could not hear a word of it. He put his feet back into position—

_(“This is called a lunge, Felix—”)_

“ _Allez_!”

Randolph’s parry and riposte were even more graceful the second time around.

“Bergliez!”

Felix kept his sabre low and bounced his weight from foot to foot, toes clenched inside his shoes. His breath began to catch high in his throat, only settling when he swallowed as hard as he could and raised his sabre. He repositioned his feet.

“ _Allez_!”

He moved first in the attack, sabre striking Randolph’s shoulder as Randolph struck his chest.

“Fraldarius, right of way!”

Four to three. It was manageable, the lead still in hand. He shook both arms and failed to do anything about the ice in them. Biting the inside of his cheek did nothing to help his breathing.

“ _Allez_!”

Felix lunged again without thinking—

“Bergliez!”

—swore at himself—

“ _Allez_!”

—and tried to parry Randolph’s own lunge—

“Bergliez!”

-but failed—

“Allez!”

—and failed—

“Bergliez!”

—and _tried, dammit_ —

“Allez!”

—a riposte—

“Fraldarius!”

—gave him a moment to breathe. Five to six, Randolph’s lead. Felix told himself, still, that it could be recovered from. He adjusted his gloves, his mask. Tried to breathe as he raised his sabre.

The next two points were taken before Felix could think of a strategy outside of Glenn’s. He stared at Randolph as he stepped off the strip, taking off his mask, before turning on his heels to hurriedly do the same for the one minute break. Hanneman was there in an instant, all his words flowing in and out of Felix’s head despite how clearly he spoke.

“ _Felix_!”

The shout of his name came from several voices, but he still looked at Hanneman first. Hanneman smiled slightly and pointed. Standing in the front row of the seats on his right-hand side, each of them holding handmade signs showing support for him and him alone, were Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain. Seeing he was looking at them, they cheered, holding their signs high.

“You can get the pace back!” Ingrid said.

“Just relax!” Dimitri said. “You know it, one breath in—”

“—One out,” Felix whispered in time with Dimitri’s voice. He looked at Sylvain when he suddenly put his sign down to show off the tattoo on his bicep, Felix’s own family crest on his arm in vivid silvery-blue ink. It almost made him smile, but Sylvain took that moment to start blowing him kisses.

“For pity’s sake,” Hanneman said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You got this, Felix!” Sylvain said, bringing his hands together to make a heart with his fingers. He winked and blew kisses with both hands until Ingrid pulled him down into his seat. Dimitri, wearing his confident lion’s smile, picked up Sylvain’s sign and held both his and Sylvain’s up as Ingrid held up hers and Sylvain cheered.

The long, heavy sigh Felix let out finally, finally settled his breathing. He looked at Hanneman, who patted his shoulder.

“Show them _your_ fencing, Felix,” he said. “You got here on your own merits, not as a copy.”

“Yes sir,” Felix said, shaking his hands and feet to start breaking apart the ice in his limbs.

“Focus on basics. Do _not_ use Glenn’s lunges—Randolph has studied them too well.”

“Yes sir.”

A buzzer sounded; the break had ended. Felix turned to the seats and raised his sabre in a quick salute to Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain, and he returned to the strip with their cheers following him. Randolph smiled at him again when they met at the center, but it was clear fatigue was settling in for him as well. Felix smiled back, both of them nodding before putting their masks on and returning to the guard lines.

Basics were not enough to score a win against a fencer like Randolph. Felix knew it, and he knew Hanneman knew it. It was a ploy to buy just enough time and touches for Felix to reach the second minute break without losing too much ground. He studied Randolph’s attacks far more closely than before, managed more parries to attempt ripostes. The cheering and applause was audible again; he could finally hear Sylvain shouting for him.

They reached the break at eight to twelve, Randolph’s lead. Felix listened to Hanneman properly then, taking in every bit of advice on how Randolph favored strikes high and toward the shoulder. He controlled his breathing to handle the fatigue that was threatening to turn his muscles to stone. The pace was his when they returned to the strip, the last two points scored resoundingly called for Fraldarius. He and Randolph did not bother smiling as they put their masks on and went to the guard lines.

“ _Allez_!”

Felix lunged, taking a form and speed he’d made on his own. Randolph fumbled his parry, Felix’s sabre landing a clean strike.

“Fraldarius!”

The crowd applauded; the trio shouted for him.

“ _Allez_!”

Randolph’s feinted lunge was immaculate, and Felix had no time to lower his guard or step back before his sabre found his gut.

“Bergliez!”

Nine to thirteen, still Randolph’s lead. Felix heard Sylvain shout, “Six-oh! Six-oh!” He smiled despite himself, taking comfort in how the mask hid his face.

“ _Allez_!”

He lunged an instant before Randolph did, both buzzers going off.

“Fraldarius, right of way!”

Ten to thirteen. He bounced from foot to foot, sweat on his neck and nerves alight.

“ _Allez_!”

Felix lunged once more, every muscle blazing as he moved perfectly. The strike was just as perfect, indisputable as the lights and buzzer went off.

“Fraldarius!”

Dimitri and Ingrid joined Sylvain in shouting, “Four-oh! Four-oh!” Eleven to thirteen. The pace was his once again. He watched Randolph lower his sabre to take a tremendous breath, and he grit his teeth as his muscles tried to seize on him.

“ _Allez_!”

Randolph’s lunge was lightning incarnate, his stomp of a step a thunderclap. The blare of the buzzer signaling his strike silenced the crowd and all but stopped Felix’s heart.

“Bergliez!”

Felix returned to the guard line, mind a whirl as he thought and rethought his options, his plans. He settled on a route, nodded, and raised his sabre as Randolph did.

“ _Allez_!”

He moved, but his feint was read too quickly. Randolph struck; Felix’s parry failed.

“Bergliez! _Match_!”

The crowd burst into applause, the Adrestian seats roaring their approval as Randolph tore off his mask and bellowed to them, both hands in the air. Felix sighed, taking off his mask and rubbing his face. He looked up when Randolph turned to face him, hand outstretched.

“Well fought,” said Randolph.

“Well fought,” said Felix, and he shook his hand for the referee to see. He stepped down from the strip as Ladislava came forward to give Randolph an Adrestian flag. There was no haste in his movements as he took off the electronic scoring gear, lamé, jacket, and gloves. Pacing slowly as he cooled down, he watched Randolph and Ladislava make their way around the hall to greet the crowd. He could barely hear Rhea and Seteth’s commentary over the speaker system through the applause. When Hanneman offered him a towel and a bottle of water, he took them silently.

“You know,” Hanneman said as the staff began building the podium, “silver is quite an accomplishment for your first time at the Olympics.”

“It’s still not gold.”

“That’s true.”

“At least I have a while to get my head out of my ass so I don’t screw up as badly as this next time.”

Hanneman sighed, smiled, and patted his back. “That’s the spirit.”

Felix finished his water just before he was called to the podium. He watched the bronze medalist bow to receive his medal, doing the same to receive his. When he lifted his head, he did not bother looking at Randolph. He found Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain in the crowd, smiled at them, and held up his medal with pride to match theirs.

————

Byleth didn’t bother watching the women’s team final match. She found a chair that was out of the way, sat down, and took out her phone and airpods. The music she chose was loud enough to drown out footsteps and sabres clashing, and she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. With lectures already under her belt from Jeralt, Sitri, and Alois about the hellish pace she’d taken to win the semi-final match at a fifteen to five point split, she had the better part of an hour to sit by herself.

Paper rolled into a tube bopped her lightly on the head. She opened her eyes, but her brother Berith continued to bop her. Only when she paused her music and took out her airpods did he stop, and he sat down next to her.

“Hey Bob,” Byleth said. “I’ve already had multiple lectures, so I’d prefer not getting another.”

“The only lecture thing I have is a message from Mom about massaging yourself and not cooling down so much.” He bopped her again. “Message delivered.”

“All right, all right,” Byleth said. She gave him her phone and airpods to focus on massaging her legs.

“Aren’t you trying to relax?” he asked, looking at her phone.

“Yeah.”

“Then why _this_ band? You said you play them for runs.”

“Because the song brings me back to the earth, obviously.”

Berith sighed and bopped her again. “You are stressed if you’re making Alois-worthy jokes.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, doing her best to work out a stubborn knot in her calf. “I haven’t exactly done well for myself.”

“Yeah, getting to the gold medal match of your final event’s pretty bad,” he said, face as smooth as stone. He smirked when she punched his arm. “You’re only allowed to do that because my match is done.”

“So you’re saying I can hit you even harder?”

“Goddess, no,” he said, bopping her yet again. “I don’t actually want _more_ bruises.”

Byleth smiled slightly, sitting up and scooting forward in her chair to massage her thighs. She said, “You did really good in your match, you know. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “You know we’re all proud of you, too, right? No matter what happens here, you’ve got two silver medals _and_ a bronze. Three medals is amazing.”

“I know,” Byleth murmured.

“And you’re probably on track to get at least a silver for the pentathlon. Probably gold already, since none of the other pentathletes are medalling like you are.”

“I know,” she said again. “But I don’t want gold just by default.”

“What, you don’t want a big slice of cake just _handed_ to you?” he chuckled.

“You tell me,” she replied, nudging his side. “If _you_ had the opportunity to get a chunk of extra icing on your cake, wouldn’t you go for it?”

“Fair point,” Berith said. “If you win, I’ll make sure you get extra icing on your slice of cake.”

“Thanks, Bob,” Byleth laughed, giving him a gentle shove.

“Hopefully you don’t have to fight with your special admirer over your cake.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t own purple hair ribbons,” he said, pointing at the ribbon she’d used to tie her hair back. “And I distinctly remember a certain Adrestian athlete having _two_ like that.”

“And?” Byleth said, raising a brow at him. When he bopped her, she sighed and went back to stretching her hands and arms. “Yes, she gave me one of her ribbons. It’s not like Edelgard giving me her ribbon will make me go easy on Vartan.”

“I’m not saying that at all. I’m just pushing your buttons a little so you think about the pretty girl and not stress so much.”

“So did Mom put you up to this, or Dad?”

Berith smiled. “Alois for the pep talk, Mom for suggesting I bring up the—Edelgard, you said?”

“Yeah,” Byleth sighed. “What’d Dad say?”

“To not get you too distracted by the time he comes over.”

“They all said they’d let me be by myself.”

He gave her a look. “It’s your last match. And Anna’s going around.”

She looked up and across the hall, spotting Anna by her hair. Shaking her head, she said, “Dad is _more_ than welcome, then.”

“Cool,” said Berith, and he took his phone from his pocket to send a text. Within minutes, Jeralt had come up behind them. He pulled a chair forward and got to work massaging Byleth’s shoulders.

“How’s your headspace, kid?” he asked.

“Better than this morning with a good win behind me.”

“Well, put it out of your mind that you’ll get another win like that against Vartan. Alois looked up all he could about her during the men’s matches this morning and she’s no slouch. Three-time participant with this year’s events, with a silver medal her first time out and gold in the last Olympics. She was projected to win gold early on before you had your issues.”

“Great,” Byleth said quietly.

“Projections are a bunch of bull anyway,” Jeralt said, squeezing her shoulders. “People flip from day to day, and you already flipped a switch with your last win. You can do this, Byleth. Just keep a level head and don’t let her throw you off.”

“Vartan, or the reporter coming our way?” Byleth asked with a small smile.

“Ah hell, here we go again,” Jeralt grumbled. He patted her and Berith’s backs, making them both straighten up as Anna moved toward them.

“Coach Eisner!” she said. “Mind if I sneak in a quick interview with you and Fencer Eisner?”

“All right,” he said. “But let’s try to keep it brief.”

“Of course, of course.” She uncapped her pen, balancing her notepad on her leg as she crouched in front of Byleth. “To start, a big congratulations to you for reaching the final match for your last event! It’s a huge accomplishment for any athlete, and especially a pentathlete.”

“Thanks,” Byleth said, nodding to her.

“Your opponent is Anahid Vartan, who took her victory with a point total of fifteen to seven, very similar to your fifteen to five victory. Both of you are going in red hot, but how do you feel about this match?”

“I worked hard to get here and I’m going to do my best to win,” Byleth said, weight rising off her shoulders when Jeralt patted her back out of Anna’s view.

“Any concerns about going up against an athlete with a gold medal already in her pocket from a prior competition?”

“Not unless she hits me with the medal in the middle of the match,” Byleth said, utterly deadpan to make Anna falter.

“That is to say,” Jeralt said, “we expect Vartan to bring her A-game, just like we will.”

“I—I see,” Anna said. “Well—any thoughts on…um. The match itself?”

“It’s nice that it’ll start soon so I don’t cool down too much more.”

Anna boggled at her, and at Berith and Jeralt when they regarded her with the same stoney neutrality. She floundered a few moments before laughing and capping her pen.

“Well then!” she said. “Thanks, you three, and best of luck in the match!”

Jeralt nodded to her as she quickly left, and he chuckled, “You think she’d learn by now with you two.”

“You’d think,” they said in unison, and Jeralt huffed a laugh as he resumed massaging Byleth’s arms. He patted her back when the team match ended, sending Berith to where Sitri and Alois stood with a nod. Byleth put her jacket, lamé, and scoring gear on, jogging back and forth to build her heat back up. The referee came to her soon after, only giving Jeralt time to clap Byleth on the shoulders four times before leading her toward the strip. She took the spot on the end of the line, following the referee onto the strip as she took several deep breaths. She stopped on the side for Garreg Mach, the lights reprogrammed to the silvery-gray of their flag, and she watched Anahid settle on the red side.

“From Adrestia!” the floor announcer said. “Anahid Vartan!”

Byleth had stopped keeping count of how many lectures she’d listened to on how to conduct herself as an athlete and a victor. She could almost recite what she’d been told on the nature of displaying showmanship and poise. Standing there, watching Anahid salute the crowd as they applauded and cheered for her, she saw an example of a consummate athlete devoted to their sport and all the confidence born of that effort. None of the applause for her had been easily earned, and there was a blazing light of pride in her eyes.

“From Garreg Mach! Byleth Eisner!”

The applause was just as loud as before when Byleth saluted one side of the crowd, but she still heard Anahid’s name being cheered. She turned to salute the other side, seeing a large group of people waving the Adrestian flag. The people in the front row seats held signs for Anahid. Standing with them was a short, soft woman with black hair with a little boy with brown hair in her arms, both of them smiling at Anahid alone. Byleth inhaled as she saluted and exhaled as she started to turn away.

Edelgard was there in the crowd, on her feet and holding a sign reading “BYLETH TAKES GOLD” in clear view. She saw Byleth and smiled, lifting a hand to wave. Byleth lifted her sabre, dazed at the sight of her and her support. She watched Edelgard cup her hand near her mouth and strained her ears.

“ _You can do this, Byleth!_ ”

Without thinking, Byleth smiled and nodded to her. She moved to the center of the strip when the referee waved to her, and she took the hand Anahid offered.

“Let’s have the best match of all the fencers, Eisner,” Anahid said, grinning so sharply a giddy chill ran down Byleth’s spine.

“Let’s,” Byleth replied, grinning right back. They shook before heading to the guard lines. Byleth snuck in one last glance at Edelgard as the crowd quieted down, putting on her mask as she bounced her weight from foot to foot. On the other side of the strip, Anahid made no extra movements and raised her sabre in the same breath as putting on her mask. Though she was only a few inches taller than Byleth, she might as well have been a mountain. Byleth settled her feet, but kept her sabre down a moment more.

At the peak of exhaustion after all her competitions, it would’ve been reasonable to settle for reaching the mountain’s base as she had. It had been a good effort, even where she’d stumbled. A silver medal was nothing to sneer at. Byleth knew this, and it gave her no comfort. She shook the tension from her shoulders and raised her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

She took the initiative, stepped forward to attack. Anahid’s parry was as viciously fast as it had been throughout her matches, her riposte just as clean to land a blow against Byleth’s arm. The buzzer sounded; red lights triggered.

“Vartan!”

Applause rang out as Byleth returned to the guard line. She kept her sabre down to take a breath, watching Anahid bend her sabre back from a curve. It was such a practiced move that it seemed idle. Byleth took another deep breath and raised her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

She began to move, intent on feinting to bait another parry. Anahid moved faster and stepped in to strike Byleth’s chest with the tip of her sabre. The strike was surgically precise, and Byleth stepped back as Anahid did.

“Vartan!”

More applause came from the crowd, but Byleth did not hear it as she shook her arms out and kept her eyes on Anahid. Given how heavily Anahid’s gaze rested upon her, Byleth knew the applause was the furthest thing from her mind. It sent another giddy chill down her spine as she smiled for the first time in any of her sabre matches.

Before her was a mountain, one no one in the hall expected her to best. No one but her family, standing as close to the strip as allowed, no one but Edelgard, holding her sign high. Byleth smiled because she knew, heart pounding, that a victory in this match meant every effort was worth it. She could push past everything and go beyond the peak as she’d wanted for so long. Her smile became a grin as she lifted her sabre and decided that it was no longer a matter of “could.” She simply _would_.

“ _Allez_!”

It happened in a flash. Anahid took the initiative with a feinted strike, sabre moving in an arc before Byleth to distract and disorient. Byleth parried it without hesitation, surging in to strike Anahid’s arm cleanly. At last, the silver lights went off as buzzers sounded.

“Eisner!”

They looked at each other as they bent their sabres back on the guard lines. There was the faintest tilt to Anahid’s head, and Byleth wondered if she was smiling as they raised their sabres again.

“ _Allez_!”

Anahid was half a step faster on the next exchange as they moved to the center line to land a simultaneous blow. They both knew, and looking to the referee to raise his hand to Anahid was a token gesture.

“Vartan!”

Byleth rocked her head from side to side and tapped her feet on the floor, three times on her left and once on her right. She smiled as she considered worse starts she’d had. Positioning her feet, she raised her sabre and waited for the call.

“ _Allez_!”

She lunged hard and fast, sabre and limbs a blur of silver and white. Anahid moved to parry, but could not draw her arm in fast enough to riposte. Byleth’s sabre hit her arm cleanly, the silver lights turning on once more.

“Eisner!”

As she returned to the guard line, Byleth tapped a rhythm over her heart: three, two, pause to reset, three, two, pause to reset. She got into position and waited for Anahid to stretch her hands. There was a peculiar haste in her movements, as if her muscles were jumping after being shocked. The same current ran under Byleth’s skin, prickling her nerves and making her flex her toes in her shoes. Anahid raised her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

They moved in unison, meeting at the center line so quickly it looked like they would collide. Anahid struck first, aiming for Byleth’s chest. Keeping every motion smooth, Byleth retreated, parried, and retreated another step when Anahid pressed the attack. It gave her space enough for one more parry and a fiercer step in, her sabre landing a clean blow on Anahid’s far shoulder.

“Eisner!”

An even score. Applause came for them both as Byleth closed her hand into a tight fist. She looked to Jeralt as Anahid made her way back to her guard line.

“Doing good, kid!” he shouted past the applause. “Keep it steady!”

She nodded to him and got back into position. When the referee called “ _allez_ ” to them, they almost didn’t wait for him to finish the word before moving. It set the tempo to a dance Byleth had hoped she would manage to join in any of her fencing matches. An even trade of points kept the heat raised in their limbs, the crowd applauding each clean strike.

Every voice was distant to Byleth then, save the referee’s. All her focus was on her breathing, the flex and sting of her muscles as she pushed them further and further. Her eyes darted between her sabre, her feet, Anahid’s sabre, and back and forth as they took ground and fell back. The tips of the sabres shone in the harsh lighting on the strip, burning afterimages into Byleth’s eyes because she refused to blink until a touch was scored.

“Eisner!”

Streaks of light like comets’ tails were thick in Byleth’s eyes as she took a moment to breathe. She blinked hard three times before raising her sabre, and Anahid nodded to her before she raised her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

Anahid’s feinted strike was something like out of a textbook, just enough movement to bait a reaction but leaving her free to strike Byleth’s arm.

“Vartan!”

Byleth exhaled slowly and shook some of the ache out of her hands. She did not have time to tap her feet or her chest, instead whispering, “Seven to six, just seven to six.” She adjusted her mask before returning to the guard line and raising her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

Byleth moved to step into a lunge, teeth grit. She faltered in her step, calf muscle on her back leg tightening painfully around the stubborn knot she hadn’t managed to work out. Anahid stepped in to take another point, but lingered after the point had been called for her.

“I’m fine,” Byleth said, quick and quiet. “Don’t try to call this on a little cramp.”

“Not on your life,” Anahid chuckled. She patted Byleth’s shoulder before they moved to step off the strip. By the time Byleth had come to a stop and taken off her mask, Sitri was there to massage her calf.

“Don’t overextend your leg like that,” she said. “You can’t lose your ability to lunge right now.”

“Sorry,” Byleth said. “I’ll be more careful.”

“You’re keeping a good pace,” Jeralt said. “The sooner you score another two points, the better. Neither of you had second breaks, so any extra time you can get to breathe is for the best.”

“Right,” she said, taking the towel he offered to wipe the sweat from her brow and neck.

“I’m not seeing a pattern in her moves,” Alois said. “You’ll have to read everything as it comes—your instincts are good on a read, so trust them.”

“Right.” She turned when Berith nudged her shoulder.

“Don’t have _too_ much fun,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’re grinning.”

She considered the state of her face, huffing a laugh when she noticed how her cheeks were stinging. Dabbing the sweat from her eyebrows, she said, “I’m definitely having fun.”

“I’m glad,” Jeralt chuckled, “since you’re focused as hell. This is your best match yet.”

Byleth smiled properly then, and the way Jeralt, Alois, and Berith clapped her on the shoulders helped knock loose some of the ache in them. The referee called to them, Sitri getting in one last good press on her calf to undo the knot before standing to clap her shoulders as well. Byleth returned to the strip, shaking both legs to make sure the pain was gone. She spotted Anahid watching her closely and nodded to her. Smiling, Anahid nodded back and put her mask on. Byleth did the same, both moving to the guard lines and raising their sabres.

“ _Allez_!”

The lunge went perfectly when she did not overextend, her sabre flashing in the lights as it struck Anahid’s chest.

“Eisner!”

Byleth gave Sitri a quick salute on the way back to the guard line, smiling because she could hear her shout, “That’s the way, Byleth!” As they got back into position, Byleth drew a massive breath and let it out slowly.

“ _Allez_!”

A flick of Anahid’s wrist nearly baited her again, but Byleth grit her teeth and took half a step back. It was all the space she needed to read the next strike fully, a parry at the ready. The buzzer sounded; silver lights triggered.

“Eisner!”

The applause that rained down on them as they left the strip for the second break was even louder than before. Sitri and Jeralt were there at once to massage her arms, Berith standing at the ready with a bottle of water.

“That’s the way, kid,” Jeralt said. “Good deep breaths. Try to work in more feints and lunges—you didn’t use either of them much in the first half and you’ve got a better chance to catch her off guard with them.”

“Right.”

“Mind how you move your arm,” Sitri said. “You’re starting to hyperextend your elbow trying to make up the difference in reach.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“We can ice it later, just don’t burn out now.” She took Byleth’s face in her hands when the referee called to them. “Go _win_ , Byleth.”

Byleth nodded, drank some of the water, and returned to the strip. She and Anahid took time to bend their sabres back, regarding each other from behind their masks. A chill went down Byleth’s spine when Anahid slowly tilted her head, casually rolled her shoulders. Bounced on her toes. They raised their sabres.

“ _Allez_!”

The only thing more vicious than Anahid’s parries was her lunge, and Byleth lost a point to it before she could think to read the strike.

“Vartan!”

Byleth smirked as they returned to position, knowing such a lunge had not been used in her previous match. It drove the chill away, and they fell back into their dance as easily as breathing.

All Byleth had wanted throughout her competitions was to win. To show her training was not excessive, to excel in a way no one else could. There on the strip, trading points back and forth, adrenaline soaked her veins and left her shaking, starving for an outcome she’d gone through hell for.

The medal was in sight when they evened the score at thirteen to thirteen. Byleth could all but feel it in her hands. She resisted the urge to smile.

Around them, the hall was silent. Even Rhea and Seteth’s commentary stalled as Byleth and Anahid kept their sabres down. The urge to move drove Byleth to pace from the guard line to the danger zone and back again, measuring her steps. When she returned to the guard line, they raised their sabres at the same time.

“ _Allez_!”

Neither wavered, neither hesitated. They met at the center, sabres to each other’s chests. At once, they turned to the referee to watch him deliberate. He raised a hand.

“Vartan, right of way!”

The crowd cheered, the Adrestian spectators clapping loud as thunder. Byleth exhaled hard to clear her lungs and bent her sabre back. She watched Anahid stretch her legs. She saw her bounce on her toes. A shiver went through her, and she took a slow, deep breath as she settled and raised her sabre.

“ _Allez_!”

Had Anahid not lunged before, had not been on her toes in the same way before her lunge, Byleth would have lost the exchange. Byleth grit her teeth, swearing inside her head, and twisted hard to dodge Anahid’s lunge and strike her arm cleanly.

“Eisner!”

Byleth could not resist raising her fist as the crowd applauded her just as much as Anahid. As she lowered her arm, silence took the hall again. All Byleth could hear was her own breathing, both her and Anahid moving without a sound. With how quickly Anahid raised her sabre, Byleth could only assume fatigue was settling on them both. She shook her hands, nodded to Anahid, and raised her sabre when Anahid nodded back.

“ _Allez_!”

Anahid darted forward, aiming strike after strike at Byleth’s chest and arms. Byleth retreated with the same speed, parrying but never having a chance to riposte. She swore inside her head again at how much ground she was losing, all too aware of how the danger zone was already close at her heels. Holding her breath, she turned her head as if to check her footing without taking her eyes off Anahid.

It baited a thrust at her chest that Byleth parried and riposted with almost all the force she could muster. The rest of her force went to driving Anahid back and back and finally past the center line. Byleth grinned, every muscle on fire, and rushed in as Anahid did the same.

The buzzers went off. Silver and red lights triggered. Panting, Byleth and Anahid turned to the referee as he raised his arm.

“Eisner, right of way!” he said. “ _Match_!”

Byleth’s legs nearly gave out as the crowd roared. She braced herself on her knees, closing her eyes tight as they burned from sweat and tears alike. She looked up and saw Jeralt and Alois bellowing at the top of their lungs, hands in the air. Berith and Sitri were cheering as loud as they could, tears of pride on Sitri’s face. Smiling, Byleth straightened up and immediately regretted it with how her head spun. Taking the hand Anahid offered was as much for balance as it was for showmanship.

“Well fought,” Anahid chuckled. “Especially that little feint of checking your feet. Definitely the best match for all the fencers.”

“I’ll say,” Byleth said, managing a laugh. “Thank you.” They shook for the referee, and Anahid took off her mask.

“I’ll expect the same next time,” she said. “Since I’ll be working on getting rid of whatever tell you saw for my lunge.” She winked to make Byleth laugh again, leaving the strip with her head still held high. Dazed, Byleth walked off the strip without removing her mask. She was nearly tackled with how quickly the others came to her, Jeralt heaving her off her feet as Alois took her sabre for safety. Berith and Sitri grabbed her in a hug the moment Jeralt set her down, Berith thumping her on the back as he laughed. When they let go, Sitri turned Byleth around with a laugh of her own.

Edelgard stood there, sign in hand and a radiantly beautiful smile on her face. There was so much excitement in her eyes that Byleth couldn’t bring herself to care that she could barely hear her past the ongoing applause and commentary over the loudspeakers. She smiled, finally relaxing as she sank into her exhaustion. When Edelgard paused to take a breath, Byleth put a hand under her chin and leaned down. She stopped short when Edelgard put a hand on the mask she was still wearing.

“Oh,” she said. She took her mask off as Edelgard laughed, grinning because the sound of her laughter was so perfect then. Though Edelgard put her hands on her face, Byleth leaned down to meet her for a kiss before she could pull.

“Congratulations, Byleth,” Edelgard said when they parted, gently running her thumbs over her cheeks.

“Thanks,” Byleth chuckled. “Didn’t think you’d let me kiss you now when there’s probably half a dozen cameras on me.”

“I couldn’t resist,” Edelgard said, shrugging one shoulder. Kissing Byleth again, she said, “We’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” Byleth said, and she gave her another kiss because Edelgard’s lips were as sweet and soft as she’d hoped.

“Go have your victory laps,” Edelgard said. “They’ll have the podium up before you know it.”

“Yeah. Uh—then—later?”

“Later.”

Byleth continued to grin, nodded, and waved to Edelgard before going to her family and Alois. She was given Garreg Mach’s flag to hold high, but her arms would no longer cooperate after so much use. Instead, she wore it as a cape as she followed her family and coaches around the strip, applause raining down on them all. She saved her strength for the podium, waiting until her gold medal was, at long last, around her neck before lifting the flag high and laughing with pride, joy, and relief in her voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [ Quali](https://twitter.com/TheUnqualified1) and [Ashley](https://twitter.com/Ashley_Rose_) for inviting me to the project and letting me be the most ridiculously self indulgent bastard for using Anahid as Byleth’s final opponent! That was way too fun. Find the stealth Starset reference, too!
> 
> Thank you also to [molls](https://twitter.com/mollyswiencki) for the fantastic beta work! You taking the time to read through this and give such amazing feedback (and catch my awful typos) is incredibly appreciated!
> 
> When I got pinged on twitter by server mom Ashley back in June 2020 asking if I might be interested in doing a huge multi-author collaborative project to write an FE3H/Olympics AU, I never expected to meet such a dedicated, enthusiastic, and talented group of people as the ones I’ve come to know. Everyone on the project has been super passionate and supportive and getting to read their chapters has been an absolute treat. I’m really glad that I was invited and that I had the lion’s pick of chapters with Fancy Stabbing (chapter title unaltered because I could never pick a better one).


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